


Dead Man's Party

by Tobyaudax



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (fairly mild self-harm though), Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Implied Relationship, M/M, Self-Harm, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 05:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15136361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobyaudax/pseuds/Tobyaudax
Summary: Mick keeps seeing Len in his sleep, in familiar places from their shared past. Is Len real- a ghost, or just a memory?





	Dead Man's Party

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the truly excellent Oingo Boingo song [Dead Man's Party](https://youtu.be/McqlDCGXaUw).

He forgot it was a dream, most of the time, when it first started happening. Weeks and months ago, Mick had just been happy (elated? Ecstatic? Was there a word big enough?) that Len was back. Sure, he'd died- blown his dumb ass up to spite the Time Pigs, to spite fate, to spite, in general- but he'd found a way back. Didn't say how he'd done it or found the safe house that looked a lot like the kitchen on the Waverider, and Mick didn't ask. They'd started planning a new job- Len had grown attached to hitting vans, armored trucks, moving targets. He went on, at length, about response times and fool-proof this and that. Mick just watched him talk, watched his hands dance over blueprints and notes, Len's words turning into a warm, low hum that soothed his usually chaotic thoughts.

When Len mentioned having to leave again soon, Mick faded back into the conversation. They were in Mick's first apartment, on opposite ends of the ratty, flea-infested couch. Mick went to the kitchenette, finding a warm beer in the fridge that had never worked for more than an hour at a time.

"What d'you mean you gotta go?" He offered a beer he didn't remember taking with him to Len. They both watched the bottle fall right through his hand and shatter in slow motion on the floor.

"I'm dead, Mick," he said, like the fucking know-it-all he was. "I gotta go back to being dead soon."

"No," Mick replied, forceful and with an edge of panic he didn't expect. "No, you died, but you're back. You're right here. We're gonna do that truck job- gonna take that casino gold with Lisa-."

" _I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go_ ," Len sing-songed. Mick had heard those words before, but he couldn't place them, nor why Len was saying them out of nowhere. He was dressed the same as he used to, before the Flash- in all black and with an old leather jacket Mick had lifted for him from a Salvation Army years and years ago.

" _Waitin' for an invitation to arrive_ ," Mick recited, scowling.

" _Goin' to a party where no one's still alive_."

Mick woke up when the room started to light up with the blue-green glow of the Oculus explosion. He hadn't witnessed it in person, but he'd made Gideon replay what she recorded of it so many times, he felt like he was right in the center of it. He was _supposed_ to be in the center of it. Mick Rory was supposed to be dead and gone and Leonard Snart was supposed to be either running Central City with Lisa and his stupid Rogues, or running the Legends with the idiots he'd chosen over Mick.

Mick lay in his bunk on the Waverider and blinked up at the dim, grey ceiling. A song drifted out of the 1990s CD player he'd swiped during their last trip to that decade, something he'd heard before, but never knew the name of:

 _I was struck by lightning_  
Walkin' down the street  
I was hit by something last night in my sleep  
  
It's a dead man's party  
Who could ask for more?  
Everybody's comin'; leave your body at the door  
Leave your body and soul at the door...

Mick was still alive. He was usually sure he was still alive- some days felt more real than others- and he was usually certain that Len was still dead. Except when he had those dreams.

The next one came a few days later- Len again returned from the Oculus but not saying how. Mick thought to ask, that time, but Len ignored the question, instead climbing up on and sprawling across the big dining table in the Santini house they'd taken over. He was dressed for a heist, all black and no jacket or stupid parka. He linked his fingers and tucked them behind his head, bending one leg and crossing the opposite ankle over the knee. He tapped out a rhythm on the table with the silver ring on his little finger.

" _Don't run away- it's only me_ ," he assured. Mick hadn't planned on going anywhere. To prove it, he approached the table, bracing himself on both hands and leaning over, getting in Len's space like his old partner used to do to him.

"Ain't going nowhere," Mick said. He hesitated a moment, then reached out and placed a hand on Len's midsection. It felt solid enough. "Don't you run this time. Don't you leave. You're back."

"I am. But I can't stay- time limit."

"Fuck the time limit- you ever do what somebody told you t'do? That's not the Len Snart I know."

"That Len Snart died, Mick." Oh, that hurt. He hadn't heard his name spoken like that in too long. He pressed down harder on Len's stomach, making sure he was still there. And a thought occurred to him.

"I ain't dreaming this," he insisted, his smile wide and a little manic. "I can feel you! I'm _touchin'_ you! And- and this!"

Mick stood up straight, his hand dragging reluctantly off of Len. He pulled his arm back, made a fist, and punched himself in the face as hard as he could. He _felt_ that- it had hurt and he felt it! People didn't feel things in dreams! Mick let out a bark of wild, victorious laughter.

"See? This's real! You're real an' back an' we can just- we can start over."

" _It's a dead man's party_ ," Len said. He choked the words out, his eyes red-rimmed but otherwise dry. " _Who could ask for more_?"

"No. Don't you do that again- you're _real!_ This's real!"

Mick lunged forward, slapping his hand onto Len's thigh- and hitting the table top.

" _Everybody's comin'- leave your body at the door_."

" _Fuck_ you! Fuck your stupid riddle and time limit- you're stayin'! Stay!"

_Leave your body and soul at the door..._

Mick roared as he shoved off of his bunk and over to the punching back he'd set up in his room. He attacked it mercilessly, punching and slapping until he couldn't feel his hands. He dragged his numb, bleeding palms over his eyes roughly, teeth grit so tight his jaw ached. He didn't know how long he sat on the floor, back to his weight-lifting bench, before Gideon's voice finally filtered through his mental fog. She urged him to get to the medical room and he only got up once she promised not to tell anyone else on the ship what he'd done. Mick didn't trust her to keep that promise- the only person who'd ever kept a promise to him was dead, after all. He couldn't trust anyone anymore.

It was a month before he slept more than an hour or two at a time again. He suspected Haircut or Blondie had Gideon drug him- he'd been getting sloppy on missions, drinking more than eating, eating more than he'd been sleeping. But sleep found him again eventually. And Len was there waiting for him, handcuffed to the railing on Cronos's ship. He didn't look pissed or scared that time, though- he had both hands above his head, but he was stretched out in the narrow hall, one leg up and tapping a rhythm on the wall. He looked like some great cat, smug like he knew he shouldn't be doing something.

"Are you real this time?" Mick hated the hollow, hopeful sound of his voice.

"Real as you are," Len replied, looking pointedly up at him. Mick glanced down and felt his whole body flush cold- he was wearing the Cronos suit. But he'd destroyed it- the whole crew had watched him torch it! He raised a hand, hovered it above the chest plate, and finally let it drop with a sickening, metallic slapping sound. It felt pretty real, as real as the punch to his face from a month or so past.

"We already did this," Mick said slowly. "All'a this. The other stuff, the times before. I don't-. Let's do something new."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Anything. Let's go to Aruba."

"I hate the beach, Mick."

"Yeah, well, you're dead. Can't get sand in your boots when you're a corpse, can ya? …'Less you're back for good this time."

"Maybe," Len allowed with a small nod. He yanked on the cuffs and one of his hands fell off like a mannequin hand. He stood and with a few flourishes of his remaining hand, freed himself from the other cuff and stuffed them into the pocket of his blue, leather coat.

"Set a course then, Captain Kronos."

Mick strode over to the controls, his leather boots almost silent on the ship's floor. He moved his sword aside to program their destination into the computer. He felt Len come up beside him, his hand cool on Mick's shoulder through the thin material of Mick's pirate-style shirt. Len's other arm came up, the handless end comfortable against Mick's stomach and the leather vest Mick wore; the sensation wasn't strange at all, like he thought it might be. Mick glanced over and grinned- Len was wearing Mick's blue coat, draped over his shoulders the way Mick wore it when he rode his horse.

"Think we'll find any vampires in Aruba?" Len asked.

"Might be too much sun, but we'll find any an' root 'em all out."

" _Don't be afraid of what you can't see_."

A cold sweat trickled down Mick's back, sticking his crisp, white shirt to him. He turned his head to stare at Len, who was much paler than he'd been a moment ago. He was dressed all in white under the blue coat and the right cuff of his flowing shirtsleeve was stained red. The entire ship started to glow blue-green and Mick let out a howl of anguish, trying to grab Len by his upper arms and keep him there. But he was already fading; Mick's hands swiping through him, Mick stumbling forward and passing right through his see-through body.

" _It's only me…_ "

Mick torched the CD player and the CD that had been in it at the Legend's next stop. He heard Haircut grumbling about really liking _Dead Man's Party_ , but was too worn out to glare at him. Maybe he could start to get a good night's sleep. Maybe he'd stop having those too-real dreams. He should've known better.

They were sprawled in matching beach chairs, Len under an umbrella and Mick in full sunlight, staring out at the crystal clear water. Mick sighed and took another sip of his ridiculous Tiki drink, looking over at Len. His partner was reading a book, one hand holding the cover open and the stump of his right scanning down the page. Mick knew it wasn't a dream because Len was dressed only in a sky blue sarong, a contrast to Mick's red one. Len's boots were discarded to one side of his chair and his toes curled every now and then- one foot in the sand and the other tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the wooden chair.

"See? Beach ain't so bad," Mick gloated. Len pursed his lips and sent Mick a cool glare over the tops of his reading glasses.

"Better without all the people," Len eventually agreed, returning his attention to the book.

"Gonna teach you how to surf tomorrow." Mick slurped his drink noisily through the curly straw, drowning out Len's predictable protests. "It'll be fun- nobody out here but us."

"If I'm still here tomorrow."

"You're back for good this time," Mick insisted, pushing aside the icy dread trying to uncoil in his stomach. "This is different."

"It is different," Len allowed. He licked his stump and turned a page with it. "But I'm still dead."

"You're not. Not this time- this time's real! It's _different_ -! We've never been here before!"

"You went to Aruba years ago, when we split that last time. Lisa got a postcard."

"Just… Stay here. Stay with me." Mick reached across the sand, calming a little when Len placed his stump in the palm of Mick's hand. "You can be dead but just … _Stay_."

"I'll think about it."

Mick woke up slowly, the sensation of Len's sun-warmed torso burned into his fingers and the taste of a forgotten Mai Tai on his tongue. He lay in bed for a long while, keeping the lights dim and thinking about reading _Dracula_ again- it was what Len had been holding, out on the Aruba beach. Mick hadn't been able to read the title, but he'd recognized the cover when Len cast the book aside, laughing, in favour of making out in the surf.

Maybe once he'd done that last mission with the Legends, he'd retire to Aruba on his own private beach. It would be best without other people, just how Len would've liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to pretend it was Len's ghost all along and that he and Mick will meet up for real at some point, go right ahead. I will neither confirm nor deny what happened here.
> 
> The second-to-last dream references an old vampire movie, [Captain Kronos - Vampire Hunter](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Kronos_%E2%80%93_Vampire_Hunter). Mick is dressed like the titular protagonist and Len's outfit is loosely based on what the female lead, Carla, wears. ...It is up to the reader whether or not he's wearing a shirt and pants or the actual dress from the movie. ;)
> 
> This story was bouncing around in my head for a few months. It's based on a few recurring dreams I had and continue to have about my dad, who passed away 8 years ago. My sister and I frequently dream that he did die, but that he's come back and is on a time limit before he's just going to die again. My dreams are a mixture of thinking it's real, that he's back- I did pinch myself pretty hard in one dream and was extremely upset when I woke up- and knowing it's a dream but hoping I'm wrong about it being a dream.


End file.
